


strangers in the night

by Amie33



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/pseuds/Amie33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t know if she was finding amusing or annoying to watch him while she thought he was about to jump off the boat. He could see her eyes shine under the stars, but he couldn’t read anything in them. She was wearing a long dark dress and a white shawl of what looked like real silk; she must have escaped the party, like he just had. He briefly wondered how he could have missed her in there: if she wasn’t currently embarrassing him, he would have found her stunning. Blond curls, perfect curves, full lips. She was wonderful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strangers in the night

**Author's Note:**

> I could tell you I wanted to write a Titanic AU, but then it's absolutely not what the fic ended up like. Well, there's a boat... This is more or less all that Muse wanted to keep.  
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

“There are better ways, you know?”

The voice made him jump, so unexpected he almost lost grip of the railing.

“You will land in a water as cold as ice,” the voice continued as his heart beat madly in his chest. “The fall itself won’t kill you, not instantly. If you’re lucky you could get caught by the propeller and it will be over in a few seconds, although considering our position there’s little chance it happens.”

“What?” He didn’t understand what she was saying, still trying to get over the fear she had just caused him.

“You are more likely to drown, or, if you know how to swim, to die of cold and exhaustion. Both ways if will be long and painful.”

“What?” He knew he was repeating himself, but what the woman who had almost got him overboard was saying sounded like nonsense.

“I have a gun in my cabin if you want. It will be done in a sec and you won’t feel anything,” she stated very calmly, which was more frightening than anything else she had just told him.

“What?” he said again, because he couldn’t find anything else to say, really.

The moonlight caught the corner of the woman’s lips as she smiled at him, and he wondered if she was making fun of him, or just thinking he was a complete idiot - which, he realised, was probably what he was sounding like right now.

“I’m not… I’m not trying to commit suicide!” he finally babbled, coming back to his senses. It wasn’t really good, but it was better than another what.

“Said the man on the wrong side of the balustrade…” she replied. He swore he could hear a snort at the end of her sentence.

He felt himself blush, which was almost worse than his previous babbling, both in shame and in anger. “I am not!” he cried.

The woman shuddered, like she didn’t believe a single word of it. “If you say so…”

And then she just stayed there, looking at him, arms crossed over her chest. He didn’t know if she was finding amusing or annoying to watch him while she thought he was about to jump off the boat. He could see her eyes shine under the stars, but he couldn’t read anything in them. She was wearing a long dark dress and a white shawl of what looked like real silk; she must have escaped the party, like he just had. He briefly wondered how he could have missed her in there: if she wasn’t currently embarrassing him, he would have found her stunning. Blond curls, perfect curves, full lips. She was wonderful.

And still staring at him.

He huffed.

“I am not going to jump”, he said, more calmly this time, giving up to her silent game. “I was admiring the view.”

“Uhm-uhm.” She didn’t even embarrassed herself with words this time.

“Come on,” he tried. He moved one hand off the railing, holding it out. Unexpectedly, she swallowed a cry and made a hurry step in his direction.

“Don’t!” It sounded like half a plea, half an order.

He huffed again and stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“Don’t be scared. I told you, I’m not going to jump.”

She shot a glance at him, and he noticed with interest she obviously disliked him mentioning she could be afraid. She was cautious though, and she looked carefully at his hand, then at the other one, the only thing keeping him on board.

“You’re not going to drop me with you, are you?” she asked with a confidence that contrasted with her question.

“Am not.”

He smiled what he hoped to be a reassuring smile, secretly amused by that little game of pull back and forth they seemed to be playing. She hesitated a few more seconds, before walking to him.

“If you do any move to jump, I’ll scream for help.”

“Ok.” He didn’t point out the fact that she could have done that five minutes ago, but she hadn’t. And that was a good sign, wasn’t it? She probably didn’t want anyone else here, disturbing her calm retreat on the deck, and neither did he: they had both fled the excitement of the crowd after all.

“Come on,” he said again. This time she took his inviting hand without hesitation. Her fingers were cold in the night but her grip was firm.

She removed her silver heels with her free hand, letting the shoes on the deck. He held her firmly as she climbed upon the balustrade, keeping her dress up to manoeuvre; he caught a glimpse of her thigh as she did so, and he forced himself to remember he was holding both of their lives with only one hand and needed to focus on that.

Eventually she was next to him on the other side, the wind blowing her hair and he got curls into his eyes.

“See, isn’t it wonderful?” he asked.

She shot a glance at him, and if she was afraid she didn’t show any sign of it. She secured her grip on the railing before she let her eyes wandered.

They were on the extreme edge of the boat, stern. Under their feet was nothing but the sea, waves rolling and crashing, strong and wild. All the sounds of the party were hidden by the thunder of the water banging on the boat, the laughter and the music a long distanced echo. Foam was giving the sea a white color both ways of the boat, while it was dark as the sky in its trail.

The woman bent a little more, admiring the perfection of the sea by night like he had done just a few minutes ago. She stayed silent for a long while, eyes lost in the water, totally oblivious to the fact that she was only holding on to her life by her fragile hands around the railing.

“It isn’t wonderful,” she finally whispered (or at least it sounded like a whisper, covered by the cry of the sea), “It is amazing.”

She looked up at him, and he realised he had been staring at her for the past few minutes, forgetting everything about the view he had initially admired. He felt air get caught into his lungs, just for a fraction of time when she looked directly into his eyes, a bright smile on her face. He had known her for only five, maybe ten minutes at most, but he thought at that very moment, he exactly knew who she was. Whatever it was, the wonder of the sight, the champagne he had drunk a bit too much at the party, seasickness that blurred his mind, he swore her life was linked to his, and his to hers.

He thought his voice would tremble, or his body would shake by the force of the revelation, but nothing like that happened. He just smiled back at her, and agreed. “Amazing.”

If she understood he didn’t only talk about the sea, she didn’t show any sign of it. Instead her smile grew until it became a laugh, pure and clear.

“You really weren’t going to kill yourself, were you?” she asked between her giggles.

“No, no I was not.” He couldn’t help but follow her, and soon they were both laughing heartily. He thought he hadn’t laughed like that for a long time. It was good to have a real moment of happiness, and to share it with someone he didn’t know, someone that wouldn’t ask for something in return. He couldn’t remember when he had last laughed like that.

“John Smith,” he introduced himself when they eventually stopped, out of breath, “but my friends call me the Doctor.”

He held his hand out, and she shook it.

“The Doctor?”

“I like fixing things.”

She smiled at the mention, but there was also a touch of sadness in her eyes and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was a thing to fix.

“And do your friends know you like watching the sea the wrong side of the railing?” she added playfully.

“I supposed they do,” he admitted, “I like to live dangerously.”

“So do I.”

She was looking straight at him, determination in her eyes and he swore he missed a few beats under her gaze. She was direct and wonderful, and he realised at that instant he could do a lot of very stupid things for her. She wouldn’t even have to ask.

He opened his mouth, not knowing yet what his blurry mind would manage to reply, when a voice echoed behind them.

“Doctor!”

They both jumped at the sound, and if he started to get used to it the woman next to him lost her balance, dangerously staggering at the edge of the deck. He heard her cry but he was fast, his body acting before his brain could even think about what was happening. One of his arms wrapped around her hips, preventing her from falling into the sea, while his other tightened around the railing, keeping both of them in place. He couldn’t catch her shawl though, which slid from her shoulders, slowly flying away. He watched it disappear, swallowed by the sea, the woman’s body pressed against his, slightly trembling, her rapid breathing against his neck, her hair stroking his jaw; he breathed slowly in, both in relief and to print her delicate perfume in his mind.

“What are you doing?!’ the voice kept shouting behind them, rapid footsteps tapping on the deck, but it all seemed to come from far away. The only things that mattered was the pressure of the woman’s hands on his chest and his arm on her back, holding to life. “Are you mad? You’re going to kill yourself!”

The woman started to move at those words, pulling back slowly.

“You alright?” he whispered. She seemed pale, but a smile was crossing her face.

“Yes, thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I think she’s right, we should get back on the deck.”

He nodded, holding her hand as she stepped over the railing on the right and safe side of the boat. The woman who had interrupted them reached their side at that moment.

“Thank you, Clara,” he muttered to their new guest as he manoeuvred back on the deck too. “You almost got us killed. We were perfectly safe before you started shouting at us.”

The young girl shot an angry look at him. “I am not responsible for all the dangerous things in your life.”

“No, you’re making them worse.”

He knew the reply was harsh, harsher than it should be, but he had to admit he had been really afraid his new friend ended in the water, and then who knew what would have happened to her ? He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if she had been hurt.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Clara chose to ignore him, addressing to the woman instead. “I’m Clara, the Doctor’s assistant.” They shook hands, before she added. “Even if most of the time I feel more like his babysitter.”

“Clara!”

He was the only one shocked by her words though, both girls laughing together. He rolled his eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” the woman replied, looking really enchanted.

Clara turned to him then, her grave look back on her face.

“They are waiting for you inside.”

He groaned. He exactly knew who was waiting inside, and what for: his smile, his advice, his approbation, and probably his money. He had fled the party for that reason, and he wasn’t willing to go back.

Clara sighed, understanding fully how he hated that. “You can’t keep running away all the time. I kept them away as long as I could, and you’ve had a whole half hour for yourself, but now you have to go back and do your job.

“Okay, okay,” he resigned himself, sighing. A glance at the woman next to him told him he wasn’t the only one sorry for that. “Go on, I’m coming in a minute.”

Clara stared at him, then at the woman at his side, before she nodded. “One minute.” And then she walked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she was far enough. “Apparently I can’t spend the whole night here.”

“I understand,” the woman replied. “Go and do what you have to do.”

She approached, raising on her toes, so close to him he forgot how to breath for a second. She kissed his cheek briefly, lingering just enough to murmur a number in his ear.

“My cabin. I’ll be waiting.”

Before he could reply, she turned back and walked away. He stayed there, staring at her form, a smile on his lips.

He eventually reached for Clara, and if she couldn’t have heard a word, he knew the girl had totally understood what had happened.

“So,” she asked as they walked back to the sound and the lights of the party, her curiosity barely hidden, “who was she?”

He stopped, the realisation hitting him.

“I don’t know,” he had to confess. That was even more interesting than anything else.

x.

It was not his kind to knock on women’ door in the middle of the night, but it was not his kind either to fall for a perfect stranger. In fact, if he had had a few adventures, he usually was clumsy and awkward with women and love had always come the slow way. It was different with her though, something irresistibly attracting him to her, like a moth to a flame; and like a moth to a flame he felt he could get burnt by her, but he wanted to take the risk. Tonight seemed to be a good night to break his habits.

This was how he found himself in front of her door after interminable hours at the party, taking a deep breath before he eventually decided to knock. A silence followed, long enough for him to start worrying he had misunderstood the invitation (or the number of the room; he was the kind to mix up numbers), but after a while her voice finally replied.

“Come in.”

He did as he was told without hesitation.

The room was plunged in complete darkness, which only thrilled him a little more. He made a few steps inside, careful in the dark, and let the door close behind him.

Light was turned on, revealing a cabin that looked like his own; but he didn’t pay much attention at the room itself, focused on the woman sitting next to the bed, a gun in her hands pointed in his direction.

“Give me one reason why I should not kill you right now.”

He had to admit, that was unexpected, more than any scenario he had built in his mind - and despite the surprise, a part of him also noticed that she looked sexier than everything he could have imagined.

“We’re on a boat, you have no way to escape,” he eventually replied, knowing he was only gaining time. He was sure she had a perfect plan already; maybe the boat itself had been part of the plan.

Indeed she snorted at his remark. “We’ll reach Amsterdam tomorrow. When Clara doesn’t find you in your room she’ll simply assume you have got out and are visiting the city. She’s used to you running away, isn’t she?” He tried not to show his confusion and despair: she was right, he was the kind to run away from everything, all the time, and Clara had long got used to it. “She won’t worry before the night, when you don’t come back. But I will be far away by then.”

He briefly closed his eyes, breathing in and out as calmly as he could.

Then he remembered how he had met her, and he started to laugh, understanding how ironic the situation was.

“You really didn’t want me to kill myself earlier, did you?”

She answered with a smile, though it couldn’t reach her eyes. “Of course not. You really frightened me right then. Could you imagine how frustrating it would have been, to see you jump overboard just before I finally got what I want?”

“What do you want?”

“To kill you, I thought that was obvious.”

“Why?”

It took her a moment to reply, while he dared to move a step forward in her direction. The door of the cabin was too far, he’ll never reach it alive: as running away was out of question, it felt like his only chance was to move closer.

“Amy Pond and Rory Williams. Their lab blew up three days after you fixed their generator,” she eventually replied, stopping his next step. He gulped. “They were my only family, and now they’re dead because of you.”

A heavy silence followed. All the plans he had started to make had vanished and he felt his legs about to give up. He walked the few steps separating him from the bed, not paying attention to the woman still pointing her gun at him. She looked very calm considering what she had just told him and what she intended to do, but he didn’t care about it anymore; now that he knew, he wouldn’t mind at all if she pulled the trigger.

He sat, elbows on his legs and head hidden into his open hands. Amy and Rory had been his friends, his best friends. He had visited them every time he could, and even if he had to move a lot with his job he had always come back to them. He had been in New York when the accident had happened but he had taken the first plane back to London. It had already been too late for him to do anything though. He had lost a part of his family that day.

He looked up to the woman that held his life in her hands, suddenly realising who she might be. They had had a friend, someone they had known since they were kids. She was an orphan and they had been the only real family of hers. They had considered her like a sister, a daughter. He had never met her, she had always been running at the other side of the world (as he was used to do he realised), but after what she’d said he was sure he was facing her right now.

“Melody?” he asked, and by the way her face darkened he knew he was right.

“I’m River Song,” she replied harshly, “Melody died with them.”

He could only imagine how she must be feeling, how the news had been hard for her. She must be overreacting by wanting to kill him, but he couldn’t blame her. He himself was feeling guilty a lot about the accident.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, “we tried to find you when it happened, but you were unreachable.” Where had she been? Egypt? Lebanon? She was an archaeologist and had been digging on some site in the middle of nowhere. By the time they had found her camp she had left without a trace.

“I know.”

She didn’t add anything else and he thought she would shoot now, but she just stayed there staring at him, her index stroking the hammer of her gun absentmindedly.

“I miss them,” he eventually admitted, as she didn’t seem to end his life straight away. His words were sincere, and somehow it was good to confess. He had been running away from his pain for far too long. “They were my friends, and if I could go back in time and change what happened, even if I had to give my life to do so, I would do it.”

“Don’t!” she shouted, standing up in a rush. Before he could understand what was happening she was standing in front of him, her gun only a few inches from his face. “How dare you? You don’t know a thing about them!” Her hands were shaking with rage, and he swore he could see tears forming in her eyes. She was sad but so strong; and not for the first time tonight he thought she was wonderful.

“You’re wrong, I knew them,” he replied as calmly as he could. “And I don’t think they would like you killing me.”

Anger flashed in her eyes, and he saw what must be his only opportunity. Too focused on her rage and on whatever she would reply to him, it was too late for her to react when he jumped off the bed. She cried in surprise but he was already holding her, a hand on her wrist trying to make her drop it, his other arm blocking her movement.

Her back hit the wall of the cabin with a bang as he had her trapped there. But she was already fighting him, and what was worse, still holding the gun. She groaned, he didn’t know if it was in anger or frustration. Her free hand was striking his chest with force, her legs hitting his knees, her whole body squirming to escape. He saw her open mouth ready to bite and pulled his head back just in time to avoid the mark of her teeth.

She shot the darkest look at him and tried to shake him off with a new strength. Her breath was as fast as his with the effort of their fight, her determination as strong. And as she cried again, he suddenly became aware of their proximity, and how it could mean something else. He remembered he had already held her like that earlier tonight. She was angry, but she was still as beautiful and attractive as then. Something had happened the moment they had met and it wasn’t gone. He still believed their lives were linked, even if only because she was bound to end his. She was attracting him and he couldn’t control that.

It only took him a second. Once again tonight his body acted on its own, and before he could realised what he was doing he crashed his mouth on River’s lips.

She froze, and he waited. For a few seconds that seemed to last forever, neither of them move, their bodies completely still. They were both trying to understand what was happening, and what was supposed to come next.

Eventually he felt the press of her lips back against his, responding to his kiss, demanding for more. Her hand fisted into his shirt where she had been hitting him, pulling him closer. He opened his mouth greedily as her legs wrapped around his, her hips rocking in a way that wasn’t aggressive anymore.

She moaned the most encouraging sound he’d ever heard. His hand not holding the gun let go of her arm, reaching for her side instead, stroking her waist and up. She pushed her breasts right onto his hand, but he huffed in frustration at the material of her dress blocking most of the way. He fumbled with her straps as best as he could.

It didn’t seem to be to her liking, his only reward a hard bite on his tongue. He pulled back in surprise, just enough to avoid a second bite of her angry mouth. But she smiled, the rage in her eyes not completely disappeared but turned up into something passionate, irresistible. He didn’t fight when she pushed him closer again, her lips sucking at his wound and the pain felt like the most delightful sensation ever.

She fumbled with his belt as their tongues fought and he reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it up. Their four hands were battling with clothes and he suddenly realised she wasn’t holding the gun anymore, and neither did he. It could be his chance, he could take the opportunity and run away from here before she realised he’d escaped her.

He could, but he knew he wouldn’t.

All his thoughts of escape vanished the moment she managed to slide the zip of his trousers open, her hands reaching inside without the slightest hesitation. He closed his eyes at the touch, her stroking fingers making it very difficult for him to focus. He was still battling with the material of her dress, unable to move it past her thighs, their position pressed against the wall not the easiest to move.

She cursed, shaking her head, and before he could react she pushed him away. He stumbled, only feeling what must be the gun under his feet before he fell on the bed. He just had the time to blink as she removed her knickers in a quick movement, toed out of her heels, and then straddled him.

“I…” he tried to say something, anything, but there were too many thoughts fighting into his brain and he couldn’t manage more than a syllable. He realised it was even worse than their first encounter and his repetition of what's.

“Shut up.” She seemed to agree with his silent thoughts and he did as she asked. He didn’t have much to say anyway. Already her hands were reaching for his cock again and his brain stopped working the moment she slid down around him. She moaned, a long, deep, sexy sound; he could spend the rest of his life listening to it, and the fact that it could really be the last thing he’d heard when she finally came back to her senses and decided to kill him didn’t seem really important for now.

Up and down she moved, her hands pressing against his chest as her hips rocked at a steady rhythm. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, her movements hypnotic, the sensation of her around him addictive. He gripped her thighs, trying to follow her quick pace.

He didn’t know what it was, the fact she was holding his life between her hands, the fear he had felt earlier at the thought and hadn’t completely disappeared, or maybe the anger that was still boiling in her veins and the complete excitement of knowing that all, but it wasn’t long before both their movements become erratic. He knew his release was close already, and he felt hers was too.

Indeed a few seconds later she cried, her whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm and her nails digging into his skin. He quickly followed, feeling like he was finally giving up to her. Whatever happened next, he wouldn’t regret anything.

She let herself fall on his chest, her breathing still quick as the movement of their hips slowed down. He briefly thought of wrapping his arms around her, to press her against him and kiss her forehead, but he believed she wasn’t the kind to hug and kiss.

Indeed she sat up, looking straight at him through the curls that had fallen in front of her face, and slapped him.

“Ouch!” No hug then.

She dropped on the bed next to him and sighed. “I hate you. I was supposed to kill you, it would have been quick and easy, and then I would feel better. Now you’re making all of this very complicated.”

He wanted to tell her killing had never made anyone felt better, but then she stood up and off the bed, and for a second he was afraid she would reach for the gun still on the floor. He would be dead this time, and there was nothing else he could do to prevent it.

Except she just stayed there, her back to him.

“Come on,” she eventually huffed, “help me get out of that dress.”

He couldn’t find anything to say for a few seconds, puzzled by her words. “Does it…” he finally started then hesitated. “Does it mean you’re not going to kill me?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I might, if you don’t remove that dress quickly.”

He didn’t ask for more, jumping on his feet. His trousers dropped to his knees as he did, and he bent to pull them back in place. She stopped him.

“Don’t bother.”

He stopped his hands, not used to her change of mood, and eventually he did as he was told, focusing back on her instead. He approached, wondering if it was a trap of hers, but she didn’t make any move to kill him. He zipped her dress down then, enjoying every inch of skin that appeared under his finger.

She shrugged off the piece of cloth as he reached the end of it, pushing it away with her feet. Next he unclasped her bra, letting his hands slid on her arms as he helped her out. Soon she was completely naked.

She turned back to face him and he couldn’t help but admire the perfect body of hers. He let one of his hands reached for her, caressing her hips, stroking the soft and warm skin of her belly, sliding along her full breasts. She trembled slightly under his touch but she let him explore her, only staring at him staring her. He could feel her gaze on him and he realised that, for the first time since he had entered her room, her eyes weren’t filled up with anger, but rather encouraging.

After a while she mimicked his movement. She reached for his bowtie that was already half hanging off his neck, and pushed it aside. Her nails stroked his skin as she took the buttons off his shirt one by one. When she had removed the last one, she grabbed both his shirt and jacket and pushed them off his shoulders, momentarily forcing him to let go of her. Next she glanced down and he understood the message, taking off his shoes with the tip of his toes as best as he could without ending on the ground, and let his trousers and pants drop on the floor.

That was it, he thought. After her threat and his confession, and without the protection of their clothes, they had nothing to hide anymore. It was at the same time really frightening and terribly thrilling, even more if he considered he had only known her for a couple of hours.

“River,” he started as she walked close to him once more.

She shook her head and put a finger on his mouth. “No, don’t want to talk,” she shushed him before pecking his lips. He closed his eyes at the touch, breathing in the now reassuring proximity of hers, ready to lose himself in her again.

“But we will talk,” he managed to come back to his senses. They needed to talk, now or later. They couldn’t just skip the fact that she had wanted to kill him just less than an hour ago.

“We will. But not now.”

She silenced him with another kiss and he agreed. He didn’t want to fight with her anymore and apparently she didn’t want either. Her kiss was nothing like their previous ones, soft and calm, the pressure of her lips gentle against his. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, letting her set the pace.

They went on slowly this time, taking the time to discover each other. The passion was still there but it wasn’t the fury they had known earlier. Roughness had been replaced by a soft tenderness; they kissed where they had bitten, caressed where they had hit. It felt unexpected but wonderful, deeper and more intimate. It seemed right, the only moment they were bound to reach since they had met.

She wrapped against him after their lovemaking, and he realised with a smile that he had been wrong: she could be the kind to hug after all. He liked that, a lot.

Neither of them talked for a while, simply enjoying their proximity. But that quiet moment wouldn’t last, and they both knew it. He was the first to come back to his senses, or the first to admit it anyway. He sighed as he thought of everything that had just happened: she had almost killed him, and he hadn’t been completely honest with her. If he wanted to build something better with her than just a night of quick shags, he felt like he needed to tell her.

“Amy told me she thought something was wrong with the generator,” he confessed eventually. The words sounded strange in his own voice: he hadn’t told that to anyone, but he felt like she deserved the truth. “This is why I sent two guys to check it. But they didn’t find anything. They couldn’t find anything, the failure was too small for them to see it.”

River didn’t say anything, but she raised on her elbows and he could feel her intense look on him. If she was surprise of his confession, she didn’t show any sign of it. He continued.

“I still feel guilty about it. I should have listened to Amy. I should have checked the generator myself. I would have been able to see what was wrong, and they would probably still be alive by now.”

For a long time she kept staring at him with that look of hers he couldn’t decipher, anxious of her reply.  

“I can’t tell you it’s not your fault,” she finally stated, “and I’ve been hating you for too long to forgive you right now. But one day, I may change my mind.”

He took the time to consider what it meant, and finally agreed to that deal. “Okay.”

She nodded without another word, and snuggled back to his side.

He smiled. She wasn’t giving him much, but it was really a lot considering the situation. He found himself hoping that maybe one day he’ll be able to forgive himself too.

He fell asleep thinking of all the new possibilities that lay before him.

x.

He was alone when he woke up. He looked everywhere but her luggage were gone, with all her clothes and shoes. All she had left was her perfume hanging in the air and a red lipstick on the nightstand.

What was he thinking about ? Of course she had left. She had probably followed her initial plan and had went down the moment the boat had reached Amsterdam. She must be far away by now, in a boat or a plane, and he would never meet her again. If he had hoped anything, it was clearly over now.

He didn’t allow himself the time to mourn on their never-was and never-would-be story, knowing it was too late already. Clara would be looking for him everywhere. For a second he thought he would River’s idea and run away for the day, maybe more, but then he realised running away wasn’t funny if he was running alone. Instead he dressed up, taking the lipstick as he left.

It was when he fumbled for her souvenir than he realised she had left him something else. In the bottom of his pocket was a piece of paper folded in two. There wasn’t much on it, just a series of number.

A time. A date. Coordinates.

He smiled. Maybe he would meet her again after all.

 

_the end_


End file.
